Sherlock and John, Partners in Parenting
by amidotheart
Summary: Murder, three days old. Kids, orphaned, two. One crime with many lives affected. When a case close to home comes up, bringing two havoc balls in the shape of two children into their already mad lives, how will Sherlock and John manage? You can look at this as pre-slash if you want, there's nothing too graphic here no worries! Parent!lock Pre-slash


"Mother, 24, found dead in a warehouse with no visible sign of the killer about. Came in about three days ago."

Was all Lestrade had to say for Sherlock to be pounding down the stairs, with his freakishly long coat transported by his freakishly long legs. Beanpoles, really. Having not had a case for a good, oh, two or three weeks now this was exactly what the detective needed. Something new. None of that rubbish like who's sleeping with who, or who stole the Mona Lisa. Exciting.

"John! Come along! Its a ca -" A heavy sigh falling behind made him stumble slightly, but only slightly, in time to see said counterpart glaring up at him. Sherlock still found it amusing that a man could be so small.

"Didn't notice I was out then? Hm? _Again_."

Sherlock grunted and lifted the shopping bags from Johns hand, just for something to grab really. Despite his enthusiasm, he'd think John would be disgruntled if he was spun about on the spot. Plonking them at the base of the stairs he hopped impatiently from side to side as Lestrade ambled in his own sweet sweet time to where he waited. Sherlock noticed faintly that John had gone to get a cab outside, if his swift absence was anything to note by.

"Now – Sherlock -" Oh here he went. Rolling his eyes, Sherlocks hands itched to hold the file. "This case is very sensitive. Very. There are disturbing images in this file so-"

"-so make sure I have a blankie nearby and some sad music playing to make myself feel better." Sarcasm dripped off every word. "_Do_ hurry Inspector. There is a cab waiting."

Slightly ruffled Lestrade barely handed out the folder before it was whisked away in a sweep of curls and coat trails.

"It's Greg, Sherlock, _Greg_."

John had hardly stopped the cab before four long limbs clambered in after him. Just the excitement that came off Sherlock in waves made him hesitate a bit. A robbery? Sure, could probably get it solves within a day. Not much excitement. At most a smirk when proven right by a flustered suspect. Fraud? Boring. Not worth the time. But murders. . . especially 'interesting' ones as Sherlock put it, those were the moods that John was most wary of. Yet, as a dutiful friend, he slipped into the cab next to the Detective. He'd barely nodded to the driver when a file was thrust in his face.

"What's the case?"

"Verity McKale. Read the file, see what you make of it."

"Do you even sleep between cases?" Came the quiet mumble as John flipped through a few records. _Birthday, last blood tests, fingerprints. . . oh_. Oh. On the next page, John slapped the page shut quite rapidly and took four shaky breaths. No it wasn't the damage to the body. He was not a squeamish man. He was an army doctor and had seen far worse. No, it was the utter lack of respect for the body.

Being a medical man helped in some cases. This being one of them, going over facts that perhaps others had missed. Taking only a glance at the bright A4 confirmed that the woman, if she could be identified as such any more, had two broken feet, a twisted arm and most likely a lung puncture from the deadly angle of ribs shown through the deathly pale skin. It wasn't white from the camera flash that's to be sure.

"John?" Sherlock prompted. Probably deducing, damn him, every move of his actions one by one. Clenched fist, rapid breaths and a tight jaw. Looking for all the world a man willing to fight. It hit John that he was angry. _Furious_ with this person. Whomever had done this, he swore to himself, would be sure to pay for it.

This was strange but not unexpected from John. It was obvious that the man was effected by the photos, some of which even he had to admit were fairly shocking. What was surprising was the seemingly instant loyalty to the victim, and anger at whoever had done it.

_Who_. That word bugged him. Itched, just under his skin. There were hints in the photos that could only be seen by his eyes, remarked with his logic. It could well have been the mothers fault, for all he currently knew.

"No one deserves that Sherlock. No matter what it's for."

"What?" Sherlock asked incredulously. _Had he. . .?_

"You think loudly."

"Well. Now you know how it feels." John allowed a small tight twitch of a smile at that.

The journey continued in comfortable silence.

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**WELP!**

**Hope you guys enjoy the story, it'll get sweeter soon :)**

**Review & Favourites are loved! Also, any ideas?**

**Ani**

**x**


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